


Visual and Other Pleasures

by InfiniteCalm



Series: Soundings [2]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Gender Roles, Housework, Lipstick, M/M, Slice of Life, thomas has hangups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:32:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22146475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfiniteCalm/pseuds/InfiniteCalm
Summary: Spring 1930- Thomas makes a few discoveries- under the bed and otherwise.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis
Series: Soundings [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1593997
Comments: 13
Kudos: 113





	Visual and Other Pleasures

**Author's Note:**

> title from the essay on film by Laura Mulvey in which the concept of the "male gaze" was described. Of course this fic deals with the other kind of male gays.  
> i'm kind of disappointed in this tbh but it's as good as it's going to get. Follows on from "Then Came Hallelujah Sounding" in terms of the 'verse.

Thomas leans over the spare bed to mess the sheets sufficiently. He does this everywhere they meet, even now when their most immediate danger is from some clever neighbour. No more back alleys; not for either them, he hopes, ever again. Not to say he had not enjoyed the back alleys, because he most certainly had. Wearing his best suit, every night he could get away, pounding up (or running down) those dark streets, and spending all his wages on drink and clothes. And not eating very much at dinner so that the pints would hit that little bit harder, not that his stomach ever thanked him for that.

It features very prominently in his memories of working in Manchester, but there had not been _much_ of that kind of carry-on until he was caught, and mysteriously sent away to the country with a very good reference. It still surprises him that that particular plan worked. Or maybe it didn’t, in the end; maybe he should have taken the out and gone into some other trade. Certainly, he had thought so a few years into his stint at Downton; on harder days he still thinks he should have.

If he had stayed in Manchester, who knows, he could own a shop, or he could be dead in a ditch. Almost certainly he wouldn’t be in this specific setting, mussing bedsheets as a precaution to protect the man he loves.

Thomas lies on his belly across the single bed for a moment, to catch his breath before heading back to the little kitchen where Richard is about to present his latest culinary adventure, on plates he found going cheap in a shop he visited without Thomas. Picturing him up the hall, carefully cutting a loaf of bread, Thomas feels the urge to smile and doesn’t repress it. His chest is light. Thomas leans over the edge of the bed and touches his head off the floor. He closes his eyes and feels the pressure on his forehead.

“Mr. Barrow!” He hears from the other end of the house- what a foolish joke to keep up, he thinks, still smiling, as if he was ever really _Mr. Barrow_ to Richard. He opens his eyes; sees, upside-down, the dust under the bed (Mr. Barrow would never keep such a sloppy house, he thinks, and then wonders where _that_ thought came from), along with a single sock in a fine wool. Well, may as well wash it, he thinks. Maybe someone’s looking for its pair, somewhere. He knows Richard’s sister Marjorie stayed in this room a few days ago, and by the look of it, it’s hers.

“Just a mo’,” he calls to Richard, and clambers down to a more reasonable position, pulling the sock out. He picks it up, and then notices that it dragged something else out with it.

A bullet shaped (god and he does know how a bullet is shaped, doesn’t he) tube, covered in red enamel. Lipstick.

He remembers Anna explaining the new way of packaging lipstick one evening at dinner- Lady Mary had invested in her toilette and the housemaids had been fascinated.

“It’s very small, so you can bring it with you,” Anna explained, “and the colour is much better. It lasts longer.”

The conversation could have been interesting, if he’d stuck with it, but he’d snorted derisively and then Carson had said that it wasn’t anyone’s concern, what the Lady Mary had on her dresser, and Thomas had thought, _if Billy’s alive, I bet he’s delighted with himself._

He pulls off the lid and looks at the colour. It’s a bright and vibrant cherry red, rather similar to the shade Lady Rose has been seen to sport these days, and it looks almost new. He recognizes the brand from the magazines and from the odd display in town. Marjorie must have spent quite a bit on this, he realises. He slips it into his trouser pocket to give to Richard. He’ll know what to do about it.

Lunch is the same meal as the last time Thomas visited- a ploughman’s sandwich, but it’s a much better effort than that one was. The tea, as ever, is brewed just as Thomas likes it. He is fighting a losing battle against his better judgement, when it comes to seeing that as a good omen. Richard sits opposite him, feeling closer than he has all day. The kitchen needs a clean- loath as Thomas is to spend his day off mopping floors and countertops, the novelty of them being Richard’s floors and countertops is enough to make him consider it. Outside, the spring wind is blowing through the trees. Light filters through the poorly-placed windows.

If this was the most Thomas ever had, he’d be satisfied.

“Thanks,” He says. “It’s really good.” The teacup in front of him is lovely, patterned with pale flowers and what looks like gold leaf. His sister must have their mother’s set of China. It was a wedding present.

Richard perches his head on his hands and watches Thomas drink his tea. He’s smiling like somebody’s hit him over the head. Thomas allows this until the ticking of the clock on the wall starts to intrude.

“Have I got something on my face?” he asks, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You’re very sweet,” Richard says, readjusting his arm.

Thomas carefully moves the crockery from between them. Richard’s gaze follows his hands. Thomas pushes Richard’s arms off the edge of the table and enjoys his outraged laugh. He anticipates the violent mussing of his hair.

“Elbows off the table, dearest”, he says, prim. “It’s only manners.”

Richard has a full head of hair _and_ broad hands and his _thighs, Christ;_ he’s a man and Thomas relishes in that.

“I’ll wash up,” Thomas says, expecting Richard to move into the other room, but he doesn’t.

“Thank’ee,” he says, and sits at the table, drinking cup after cup of tea, making light conversation.

_Just like a man,_ Thomas thinks, in his shirtsleeves, elbow deep in soapy suds, carefully cleaning the china, stacking them so that they don’t chip and drain off quickly. He bustles around the kitchen, putting things back where they belong, rearranging the curtains. He’d like to wash the cupboard doors too (if something’s worth doing…), but as soon as he picks up a fresh cloth, he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“That’s all busy-work,” Richard says, coming up behind him and putting his other hand on Thomas’ waist. “Don’t bother with it now, Thomas, you ‘ent my charwoman.”

“Char _man,”_ Thomas says, to Richard’s breathy laughter.

This reminds him about the tube in his pocket, and he turns around in Richard’s arms, putting the cloth down behind him and then placing his arms around his neck, loosely.

“Your sister left her lipstick in the spare room,” he says. “It looks new”.

“Oh good,” Richard says. “It doesn’t suit her. She should stick to the darker colours, but she says they’re too vampy for a mother, so here we are.”

Thomas reaches into his trouser pocket and pulls the lipstick out. The light glints off the enamel attractively. Thomas feels a flash of irritation that nobody ever tries to make razors that nice-looking. Then again, if any man bought one like that it would probably be as good as standing upon Hyde Park corner and announcing their fondness for Wilde.

“Hm,” Richard says, uncapping it and twisting the base. “You’re right, it is new.”

He starts toward Thomas with it, who feels suddenly cold, and ducks out of the way, stepping to the side a few yards.

He has to be careful here, tread carefully, he didn’t mean it, don’t say something cruel, don’t storm off, control yourself, control yourself, control yourself. Deep breaths, he’s not purposefully doing anything-

“What are you _doing?”_ he asks. Well. So much for calm and measured.

Richard just rolls his eyes and spins on his heels.

“God, I can never tell what will set you off,” he says to the ceiling.

The fact that this is probably true just makes Thomas feel a bit heavier; he will dissect that phrase to death when he’s back at Downton tomorrow and probably all day after, because that’s how this month has been going. Still, at least he’s not angry anymore.

“Sorry,” he says, dully. Like a petulant child, even to his own ears. “I just don’t want to wear it, that’s all.”

“Well why ever _not,_ ” Richard asks. “It’s only a joke, Thomas.”

Thomas is taken aback by how fast his heart is beating and how shallow his breaths are. He feels like he does after a bad dream, or when someone who knows alludes too transparently around someone who doesn’t. _Thin ice,_ he thinks, but he doesn’t know why.

“I’m not a _woman,”_ he says. “Nothing wrong with them, of course. But I’m not a woman.”

Richard smiles that small thoughtless smile he has when he is considering something. He steps forward again, and Thomas lets him, though it almost feels as though he should be running far away.

“I bet the analysts up in London would absolutely love to get their hands on you,” Richard says, and maybe it’s a cruel joke in one sense, but Thomas laughs anyway, because it is most definitely true. He leans against the sink and Richard leans next to him, twisting and untwisting the lipstick canister. They watch the red pigment swirl up and down.

“I can’t see myself lying down on one of those couches”, Thomas says. “Talking about my mother.”

“It’s not all about mothers, you know.” Richard says. “Did you nearly drown as a child? They love dissecting times you nearly drown.”

Thomas feels like asking Richard how on Earth he knows that, but it’s probably best not to find out. He has such a strange mix of contacts.

“I did, actually,” he says. “Accidently fell in somewhere when I was very small. A man with a nice moustache saved me.”

“Well, there you go,” Richard says. “That’s your inversion explained.”

“You don’t have a nice moustache”, Thomas says.

“Always the potential for one.”

They laugh- Richard does not have the potential to grow a nice moustache. He’s tried, many times, so that he can needlessly induce pain and suffering in Thomas’ heart.

Thomas is not a woman, no matter what people have said, over the years, no matter what they’ve implied since he was a boy, he is not _girlish,_ he is not _delicate._

And yet. The colours they can wear. The time Anna spends making sure the ladies’ clothes are falling just right- how house-proud all the women on his street were, when he was growing up, sweeping their stoops and cleaning the windows weekly. The children on his street were all well-turned out, even if their clothes were old and their shoes were too tight, and their lunches were small. That was something Thomas always admired in his neighbours.

His mother used to buy pattern books and when he was very small, he’d sit in her lap, and be enthralled by the drawings of the fashionable ladies she was flicking through.

“We’re not like how them out there see us,” Thomas says. “We don’t all mince around and wear ladies’ things, like that.”

“Not all of us do, no.” Richard says. He reaches for Thomas’ hand and squeezes it tightly. Thomas brings up their hands and kisses them absentmindedly, staring off into space.

“Some do, though, and there ‘ent nothing wrong with that, either,” Richard continues. Thomas knows. He does know.

He takes a deep breath.

“Well, give it here, then”, he says, and Richard looks him in the eyes as he applies the lipstick to Thomas’ face.

**Author's Note:**

> that's all for now, folks! i'm on tumblr [@meryton-etc](https://meryton-etc.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
